


Getting Bent

by distantstarlight



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Jealousy, Johnlock - Freeform, Let's Write Sherlock, M/M, Sex, Stripping, challenge 15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:39:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2142696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is Sherlock Holmes’ best friend so when Sherlock tells him he needs to ‘keep an eye out’ John tried to do exactly that. Unfortunately there’s a bit of a distraction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Club

It wasn’t as if John had never seen Sherlock’s body before. He had. Sherlock was always getting hurt; nothing serious but enough that John had viewed every single part of Sherlock excluding the bit right between his thighs which was a _no friend zone_ by John’s own rules. Any problems Sherlock had in that region needed to be cared for by a doctor not named John Watson. It wasn’t that John was uncomfortable with the male body, far from it. As a former soldier and as a doctor he’d seen more male bodies up close and personal than he could recall. He’d handled every part of the male body directly, separated by no more than the protective surfaces of his nitrile gloves. John was not going to touch Sherlock _there_ but John could not stop staring.

Sherlock was on a small round stage draped by reams of cheap fabric that were doing their best to look mysterious and rich. Loud music thumped in the background and even as it changed from song to song the consulting detective was untroubled. John stood and gaped at him, frozen to the filthy floor as Sherlock did a bump and grind around a pole, the man wearing tighter than skin jeans, the whistles and cheers almost drowning out the music as a crowd pushed closer to his part of the strip club. Sherlock was undercover as talent.

When Sherlock bent all the way forward to shake his ass at the masses John just about collapsed. Sherlock’s trousers were near splitting from straining to contain the plenitude. John had to force his hands to remain on the sticky bar. He wasn’t sure what he’d do with them if he let go but John was positive it wasn’t good. Sherlock needed his dignity back! How could he bear to do this?

At least Sherlock was barely recognizable. John had innocently enjoyed it when Sherlock dyed his hair earlier that day. Sherlock’s disguises were always simple but brilliant. The raven mop was coppery ginger color now, the curls wild and tousled. He’d altered how he shaved and now Sherlock had hints of sideburns that made the sharpness of his cheekbones stand out. John knew it was Sherlock up there but had somehow never previously noticed what a rippling hard belly Sherlock had, or the rather impressive bulge in his pants that clearly was not a pair of rolled up socks. John and everyone else in the club could see that Sherlock wasn’t circumcised. Those trousers were tight. Not that John was looking. Not on purpose anyway. How would you not notice? Sherlock was on a stage under bright lights thrusting his hips at everyone. Of course John noticed. Sherlock had trained him to observe!

Sherlock had started out dressed like he was going clubbing. John had been fine with the leather coat and the hoodie, the scarf, the denim slacks that seemed painted on, the scuffed and worn trainers that made Sherlock almost slink as he walked. All of that had been fine, more than fine. When Sherlock led him to a table and left him there with his leather coat and the unclear injunction to ‘ _keep an eye out’_ John had foolishly thought Sherlock was casing the place and would return to John presently. Instead a bare-footed Sherlock had walked onto the stage as he was, fresh ginger hair catching the multi-colored lights and had begun to dance. John stopped breathing.

Sherlock was incredible. John didn’t even know Sherlock knew how to dance to contemporary music but of course the bastard could! He was graceful, sensual, and fuck was he _flexible_. Was the man’s spine made of rubber or something? People could not bend like that! Sherlock had pretzeled himself up around the pole and then shimmied himself out of his self-imposed knot to shake his glorious ass one more time at the leering crowd. He didn’t seem shy about the suggestive motions he made, even smiling cheekily at the men and women who crowded close and threw bills at his feet.

John wondered where Sherlock had learned how to do a strip tease and resisted the nearly overwhelming urge to join the worshipful crowd in front of his flatmate. Belatedly John realized he was supposed to be keeping an eye out but then also recalled that Sherlock hadn’t told him what he was looking for. John settled for gazing around a lot, definitely not darting continuous glances that turned into long stares whenever Sherlock’s back was to him, no. John was here to help detect and that’s what he was doing. Wait, Sherlock was wearing John’s pants!

John stopped pretending to scan around and gaped at Sherlock. Sherlock had undone his jeans, unbuttoning the fly to partially expose himself. He was definitely wearing John’s pants, the red ones with the white trim that Harry had gotten John for his last birthday. John never wore them, he was too embarrassed. John wore plain white pants, nothing fancy, not ever. Sherlock didn’t seem to wear pants, at least, none ever showed up in John’s hamper where most of Sherlock’s dirty clothes mysteriously appeared. Why was he wearing John’s pants and showing them to a crowd of strangers?

Sherlock distracted John again by pulling his hoodie off. In no way should something as everyday as taking your outerwear off be so bloody sexy but Sherlock managed. He shook his curls out after and he _winked_ at John! Sherlock had fucking made _deliberate_ eye-contact with John and _winked_ at him! It was a good one too, if Sherlock had been a woman John would have been over there in a flash, secure in the knowledge that the rest of the evening was going to be very pleasant indeed. Still, it was Sherlock so it couldn’t possibly mean what John felt it might mean.

Jesus Christ Sherlock was taking his teeshirt off. It had some kind of cartoon figure on it, making the tall man seem younger than he was by several years and the way his hips gyrated as he lifted the material up to expose his torso one painfully slow inch at a time was excruciatingly hot. John found he was gripping the edge of the bar so tightly his knuckles were white.

Sherlock raised his hands higher and higher and John realized he’d stopped breathing because Sherlock chest was like marble, he’d clearly waxed and there was nothing but acres of smooth hard flesh broken only by small tight brown nipples. Sherlock inhaled as he pulled the teeshirt over his head, making his ribs flare out and he did some kind of body-roll thing that made John choke on the mouthful of beer he’d forgotten to swallow some time ago.

Sherlock tossed his tee on top of his hoodie and undulated around the pole, his now naked back arched as he reached up to grasp it. Giving a graceful kick of his legs Sherlock demonstrated some gymnastic skill that reminded John of certain Asian smugglers they’d battled and did a twisty thing around the pole. Seriously, what was his spine made of? It made John’s back hurt just watching.

Sherlock was astounding and the crowd around his stage grew denser. He’d hooked one leg around the pole to suspend himself upside down and was removing his jeans. Impossible! Still the bastard managed to shimmy one long and obviously waxed leg out, wound _that_ leg around the pole and took his jeans off the rest of the way to leave himself hanging upside down and nearly naked except for John’s bright red pants.

Sherlock let himself slide down the pole, the crack of his arse riding down blatantly as the detective seemed to moan with pleasure. His arms were extended and the second he touched the floor he kicked off the pole, planted his feet and shook his ass for everyone again. Sherlock stood up slowly, letting everyone get as much of an eyeful as they wanted before _looking directly at John and winking again_. John’s mouth watered.

It took the consulting detective only a few moments to gather up his earnings and clothes and to step lightly off the stage and disappear behind a curtained exit. John followed. He found Sherlock talking to another nearly nude man, both of them only inches apart and looking interested in closing the distance. The man looked Sherlock slowly up and down and the detective seemed to encourage him to take in the view. When Sherlock spotted John he stepped back, “Later.” he said and the nude man left.

“Sherlock?” John wasn’t sure what he should say. It was hard to think. Sherlock was still essentially naked in front of him and he was gleaming from head to toe with sweat.

“Did you spot anything suspicious?” demanded Sherlock intently. Sherlock gave himself a cursory wipe down with a towel and was stepping back into his clothes unconcernedly. John’s mouth flapped open and closed and he could not speak, “John I asked you to keep an eye out, what did you see?”

“You earning rent money! It might have helped if you’d given me a rough idea what I was supposed to find suspicious apart from my flatmate dropping it like it was hot!” Sherlock looked irritated.

“I didn’t drop anything John. I was the distraction! You were supposed to be looking for arms dealers. I told you all about it earlier today in great detail. Weren’t you listening?”

“Sherlock I was at work all day. Did you tell the skull and just assume I was magically listening somehow?” Sherlock was always doing that. He spoke to John all the time but barely ever looked to see if John was really there. More than once John had been in exactly this situation and he was exasperated.

“Fantastic. Well I suppose it’s convenient that I’ve been asked to return tomorrow night. I hope you’ll do a better job of it John. I hadn’t planned on making this my career though it looks like I can afford to take you to dinner at least. Chinese?” food bribes always worked with John because Sherlock didn’t eat nearly enough. Capitulating instantly John called in an order from their favorite restaurant, stopping on the way home to collect it, Sherlock paid for it in small rumpled bills.

After they’d eaten and laughed over Sherlock’s fortune-cookie predictions John looked at Sherlock, “Why my pants?”

“I’ve always wanted to get into your pants John. I’ve never worn cotton before.” John almost choked again at the hopefully unintentional innuendo because Sherlock’s voice was anything but suggestive. He sounded curious and thoughtful, “The fabric is more comfortable that I would have expected, I’m going to keep them, they’re too small for you anyway.”

“They’re my pants and you have a big bum so don’t pretend that my pants fit you properly. Wash them and give them back.” John wasn’t giving up his birthday pants. They were one of the few things Harry had given him while sober. True he’d never worn them but that wasn’t the point.

“My bottom is not big.” protested Sherlock.

“It’s like looking at two badly parked Volkswagens.” exclaimed John.

“I am perfectly aligned John! Look, both cheeks are even, there’s nothing badly parked about them!” Sherlock sounded outraged and had stood up with his back to John to push the insulted area toward him. John looked closely. Sherlock’s arse was perfect and so close to John’s face. He resisted the temptation to bite a lush cheek. Sherlock stormed away, taking his tempting ass with him. “I’m keeping your pants.”

“Fine! I don’t want to fight about it. If you wanted to get into my pants so badly all you needed to do was ask.” John shut his eyes and hoped Sherlock didn’t catch that. Surely Sherlock would understand John only meant to allow him to continue borrowing his pants.

“John, I want to get into your pants. May I?” said Sherlock from the kitchen.

“You have my permission to get into my pants.” John shook his head, relieved that Sherlock just meant to use his underwear.

“Thank you John. This will be interesting and enjoyable.” wait what? What would be interesting? Stripping again? Wearing John’s pants? What! Deciding he was too tired John shook his head and told Sherlock he was heading to bed. There was no reply so John took himself away for a cursory wash and brushing of teeth before flopping down, suddenly exhausted.

One part of John was very energetic and kept telling John all about what a fun evening it had had and how excited it was and please please _please_ just for a minute? John covered a quickly growing erection with one hand while fumbling for his lube with the other. John stroked himself slowly and recalled every inch of Sherlock he’d witnessed tonight, shamelessly wondering about what had been so clearly outlined by Sherlock’s jean, and how tightly John’s pants had pulled across the generous globes of Sherlock’s perfectly lush arse.

John’s sexual crisis didn’t kick in until after he’d cleaned himself up and lay back down to sleep. He’d just masturbated to mental images of Sherlock! _Sherlock_! Sherlock who was male and possibly sexless! Sherlock who had winked at John so invitingly but still acted like a five-year-old, Sherlock who was his best friend and who hated the entire concept of physicality, preferring a cerebral life where he referred to his body as transport and gave it no thought. It had been a good orgasm too. John’s toes were still tingling. John was _not_ gay. Yes he’d looked at other men but he’d never once acted on it and that meant he was straight, right?

John argued with himself before deciding that he just appreciated beautiful things and Sherlock was beautiful. No harm done to his sexuality, it was just a wank anyway. Sherlock’s arse was a perfect one, nothing wrong with letting his mind wander over it, nothing wrong with that at all. Any woman would be pleased to have an arse like that; John was a straight as an arrow. Content that it was all sorted John fell asleep, his hand still on his cock as he dreamed of Sherlock’s stunning behind.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'badly parked Volkswagen' is a nod to Red Dwarf - thanks Rimmer.


	2. Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has done some pretty amazing things in the name of The Work but John isn't sure how to handle his latest efforts.

Sherlock assaulted John with a needle first thing in the morning, “I need a sample John.” and disappeared back into his room while John shouted at him and rubbed his arm. “Stop whinging. You were a soldier! _Act like it._ ” Sherlock was fully dressed and whirled out of the flat like a human storm, taking John’s blood with him.

John shouted abuse at the door, “I told you to ask before taking biological samples! I’d better not wake up tomorrow with bits missing!” Sherlock was a collector of John. He’d gotten John’s hair, his fingernails, his fingerprints, and even his footprints, all while John slept. How Sherlock managed John would never understand. John had severe PTSD, he slept lightly and nervously. He never slept over at new girlfriend’s houses after sex, it was too dangerous. Still, despite the possibility that John could break Sherlock the man had crept into John’s room time and again to gather his curios. After all their time together John should have been accustomed to it but he wasn’t and so he shouted at the unresponsive door one more time.

John went to work where he spent the day forcing himself not to think about Sherlock stripping. He focused hard on his patients and was charming with the nurses, enough that three of them asked John out for the weekend. He declined, “We’re working on a case. I might not be able to make a date.”

“Sherlock’s a lucky man to have landed a bloke like you.” sighed one of the nurses enviously.

“Sherlock hasn’t landed me.” said John uncomfortably and the nurses giggled with disbelief. “Well he hasn’t.” Sherlock clearly wasn’t interested in someone like John Watson. John was useful to have as a friend but that was it.

“He needs to try harder love. Don’t let him get off easy! Not after all the work you’ve put in.” with more giggles the nurses went back to work and John went home shaking his head. He had no idea what they were on about. Sherlock wasn’t at the flat. He’d left a note, “Eat dinner. Meet at club at nine.”

Thanks a bloody lot. John grumbled around the flat doing chores and updating his blog until it was time to go. The club was packed and he had to argue to get inside. There wasn’t room at the bar but John forced his way through and got a whiskey. The dancers were already on and John heard the announcer scream out, “ _Get ready for the main event, our special performer_ _SHEZZA SHEERLUST_ ” What the utter fuck? John turned to the stage and his mouth watered like it had the night before.

Sherlock was on stage and he had been transformed. His face had been painted with a splash of red that covered his eyes and ended in two points over his forehead. His outfit was garish and tighter than the jeans he’d worn previously. He looked alien, his curls coiled out from his head like copper springs. The top he wore gave him a suggestion of cleavage, his leggings hugged his arse and made it almost feminine. Overall Sherlock was entirely androgynous but so fucking sexy that John could not help the small groan that escaped him. His outfit bore shining swaths of material as well as glittering sequins so that every move he made seemed exaggerated.

While Sherlock had blown John away with his skills last night he clearly hadn’t been putting an effort in because now he was doing so much more and the crowds surged around him. None of the other dancers had a single patron in front of them, Sherlock, or rather, Shezza had them all mesmerized. He was magic.

Sherlock did things with his body John had only fantasized about. The way he swayed, the way he arched his back or bared his neck, the way Sherlock trailed his violinist’s fingers up his thigh, alongside his cock to reach his fly, _the way he kept watching John_. It was blatant seduction and John was entirely helpless. The words “ _I’m not gay_ ” ceased to exist in John’s inner vocabulary and were now replaced with a new mantra “ _must fuck Sherlock_ ” and every part of John’s body joined in with the chant. Sherlock smiled.

John tore his eyes away, examining the crowd desperately. They were on a case. He was supposed to be looking for arms dealers not struggling to hide a leaking erection. It would be obvious but John had to tug his shirt-tails out and let them hang untidily around his hips. He had no other way to hide the bulge in his pants or the spreading stain of wet. Sherlock wasn’t stopping, at least not from the way the crowds were almost moaning and urging him along. John scanned the crowd and hoped no one would questions why his cheeks were so flushed.

If he hadn’t been so desperate he might not have noticed the girls. John’s eyes latched onto every woman he could see, anxious to find them as attractive as he used to, his gaze darting this way and that. He noticed something about a large group of them. All of them had a small coil tattooed someplace visible but discrete. One had one on the base of her thumb. Another had the same tattoo behind her ear, another at the nape of her neck. A dozen women in all, all of them dressed like regular customers but all of them bearing the delicate coil someplace those who knew what to look for could see.

John looked directly at Sherlock, his arousal forgotten and nodded his head sharply once. Sherlock’s eyes widened and he incorporated a nod of understanding into another body roll that made the hard flat muscles of his stomach ripple. John’s groan was lost in the collective sigh of the crowd. Sherlock teased everyone when he got down to his pants, or rather, John’s pants. He played with the waistband tugging it down to show that he was completely hairless but not quite far enough to expose himself completely. John could still see everything though, Sherlock’s balls were heavy and ripe, his cock semi-hard and John was going to kill every person in here who was looking at his flatmate.

Once his show was over Sherlock scooped up his well-earned money and gracefully left the stage, unashamed of being mostly naked in public and again John followed. Sherlock was washing his face quickly, “Who?”

“Girls, coil tattoo on various body parts, about twenty of them I’d say.” Sherlock nodded at John’s report and climbed into his skin-tight jeans and hoodie, hanging his stripper outfit up and tugging on his shoes.

“I’m going out with Billy tonight, we arranged it earlier. Don’t wait up.” Sherlock just walked away from John and made his way to a scruffy looking man with puppy-dog eyes and matching razor sharp cheekbones who waited at the rear exit of the building. They leaned in close to one another and spoke softly together as they walked off into the night. They looked cosy together and John wanted his gun. This was not how he’d expected the evening to end and now John’s stomach felt twisted and knotted. Where were they going?

John went back to Baker Street alone and sat at the kitchen table drinking tea until two in the morning. Sherlock did not return home. John checked his mobile dozens of times but there was nothing. The steady stream of texts he normally received from Sherlock day and night had ceased and John fretted. Who was Billy anyway? He didn’t look trustworthy and wasn’t he a bit young? Of course Sherlock was younger than John by several years so perhaps Billy was more to Sherlock’s taste. John had no idea Sherlock had a preference but apparently un-groomed thirty-something men who looked like a college drop-out flipped his switch.

John was suddenly aware of his age. He was forty-two this year. He laughed to himself, he was the answer to life, the universe, everything. Sherlock wouldn’t understand that. He’d never read the books John recommended and hadn’t paid attention to the movies John made him watch. He wasn’t interested in the same things broken soldiers were interested in. John had a horrible thought. What if Billy was John’s replacement? Sherlock’s new best friend, the one who helped him on cases! What use would John be then? None that’s what! John fretted even more.

John couldn’t sleep so he did what he always did when he was uneasy. He cleaned. The bathroom glistened, his bedroom was swept and the bed remade, the laundry was sorted and ready for washing on the morrow, and all the dishes had been washed and stored safely in their cupboards. It was now near dawn and Sherlock was still not home. John sat in his chair and worried some more before admitting defeat and taking himself to bed. He took himself half-heartedly in hand but decided he wasn’t in the mood for a wank. Closing his eyes, John willed himself to sleep, hoping to himself that Sherlock was home when he woke up.

He wasn’t.

John cleaned the flat everywhere and scrubbed out the fridge. He took himself to the shops and stocked up their pantry but Sherlock didn’t return home. John was worried and considered texting Sherlock but restrained himself. If Sherlock were romantically involved he would not thank John for interfering. On the other hand if Sherlock had gotten himself kidnapped again John was wasting precious time locating him. Mind made up John picked up his mobile to text his best friend.

The street door opened right at the same moment and John heard Sherlock greet Mrs. Hudson. Two sets of footsteps climbed the stairs and John stood in the living room like a deer caught in the headlights. Sherlock pushed the door open and when he saw John the detective looked exhausted but happy. Billy was right behind him, “Alright I’ve walked you home, see you later Shezza.” the scruffy man said with a gentle smile.

Sherlock returned it, “Later then.” Billy gave a friendly nod to John and departed. “I need some tea desperately. My lips are chapped from dehydration.” Sure Sherlock, _dehydration_. Scowling John went to the kitchen and banged the kettle on the stove after filling it with water. He almost slammed down two cups on the counter and dug out the tea with a little more ferocity than an unarmed tin required.  “Your tip paid off. I think we’ve located the dealers.”

“Oh good!” said John cheerily, his back to Sherlock as he glared at the kettle, daring it to boil in an insolent manner. “Glad to help.” he chirped.

John dug out biscuits because Sherlock probably hadn’t eaten but still wouldn’t accept a meal, not if he was planning on sleeping. He put some on a viciously extracted saucer and thumped them onto the kitchen table. “Is something wrong John?”

“No, why do you ask?” replied John who kept his voice innocently confused. The kettle whistled and John cursed it silently. He made tea, stirring in two heaping spoons of sugar into Sherlock’s and tipping cream into his. The teaspoon’s life nearly ended during its trip to the sink and the mugs the tea was sloshing in were just sturdy enough not to shatter when John plunked them down on the kitchen table.

“You’re behaving oddly.” Sherlock was looking at John with narrowed eyes, deducing his flatmate. “You were worried. Apologies John, we were in the tunnels. I couldn’t text, no service.”

“In the tunnels with Billy, good, good.” said John inanely, drinking his tea with intensity, “Sounds lovely.”

“Tonight should be better, I’m actually looking forward to it.” said Sherlock with a smile and John felt his gut clench. Sherlock was going a second date with Billy? Two in a row? To the tunnels? Was that a euphemism or was Sherlock really going underground with a stranger? “John are you sure you’re alright? The veins on your temple are popping.” Sherlock was in full observation mode and for some reason it made John mulish. “John?”

“See you later Sherlock, I’ve got some errands to run.” John needed fresh air. Sherlock was running around the tunnels with a young man named Billy and leaving John behind. The doctor had nowhere to be so he rode the busses for a long time, just watching out the window and transferring again and again until he made his was circuitously back to Baker Street and 221 B. He sat at Speedy’s. John ate a sandwich and drank a cup of tea while arguing with himself. He couldn’t stay away from home forever and he had no idea why he was even trying. Food consumed and excuses unfound John trudged his way up the stairs to find the flat Sherlock-free.

John sighed and wondered what to do with the empty hours. The flat was spotless. The laundry was done. He’d eaten and there was nobody to cook for. The fridge was full. His blog was updated. Sherlock was on a date with Billy.

John sat on his chair and felt glum and then finally began to notice how down he really was. Why was he so miserable? Sherlock spent lots of days without John; he did it all the time. Just last month Sherlock was at the morgue for four days straight and John hadn’t batted an eye. Why was this so very upsetting?

John looked at his hands. They were knotted together and he forced them apart and made himself actually think about his feelings. He wasn’t Sherlock; John didn’t pretend that he didn’t feel things even if understanding some of those feelings was a bit embarrassing. He was a soldier after all and he didn’t just sit in one spot crying his sad out. He addressed problems head on. That’s what he did.

John rationalized everything away, his power of denial at its peak. John didn’t know Billy, could the man be trusted? John didn’t think so but Sherlock clearly did and John believed in Sherlock. John wasn’t sure Sherlock was safe doing whatever he was doing. John was concerned as a friend and comrade, that’s all, that’s why he was uncomfortable with the idea of Sherlock and Billy. John had guarded Sherlock’s back for a long time now so if he was being replaced it might have been nice for Sherlock to let him at least make sure his new bodyguard understood how to be good at it, like John was.

The strip club, John had gotten aroused and yes Sherlock had winked at him a lot. It was just the atmosphere. There were a lot of horny people around John; his body had just reacted sympathetically. His erection wasn’t because of Sherlock stripping, John could watch Sherlock strip all day and not be fussed. No, it was because of all the other people. John’s body wasn’t disciplined like Sherlock’s so it could be forgiven for forgetting that Sherlock was a bloke.

John then realized that Sherlock might be getting very personal with Billy right now. He’d been amazing on that strip pole. How had he learned that? With Billy? _Oh my god had Sherlock been seeing Billy all this time_? For how long? How long had he kept this from his best friend? Billy and Sherlock would be way past the third date guideline. Did that mean they were having sex?

John searched his memories for any time when Sherlock might have looked like he’d just gotten laid and couldn’t bring anything to mind because John had never known Sherlock to take a lover so he couldn’t be sure what his post-sex face looked like. Of course John did work a lot sometimes and Sherlock did go away and John assumed he was where he said he was but what if he wasn’t? Sherlock was a good liar; he’d lied to John plenty of times. Well no, not actually lied. Sherlock always told John the truth or at least bits of the truth and let John lie to himself. He’d gotten John involved in complex lies. In the end though John decided this was private stuff and no one did privacy like a Holmes.

John sat there in his chair for ages before he realized he was acting like an angst filled teenager. You’d think he had a crush on Sherlock or something. Laughable! Ha! John laughed out loud just to doubly prove how amusing that idea even was. John was a man, he didn’t do childish things like have _crushes_! Plus he was a man who loved women. John really loved women. In fact that’s what John would do. He’d clean up, have another cup of tea and make use of his free evening to go find a lovely bird to spend some happy time with. Mind made up John marched himself to the bathroom to shower and shave.

The second he stepped into the lady-rich bar his mobile went off. John ignored it but it then it rang and that was unusual. Practically nobody actually phoned. Everyone sent texts! John found a quiet corner and answered, “John, for fuck’s sakes check your texts! I need you!” Sherlock’s panicked voice disconnected and the world dropped out from under John’s feet. There was an address and a single word “Sig.”

John grabbed the first cab he could find, raced back to 221 B while it waited and tore off across London filled with anxiety. He had no idea what kind of trouble Sherlock was in but John wasn’t going to fail him. John approached a dilapidated warehouse. Why were there so many of these in London and why did Sherlock always seem to get into trouble in one? John shook his head and made his way silently inside. He crept past one guard after another easily, filled with contempt at how little they noticed! No wonder Sherlock was so rude to people, seriously, how could you miss a man with a gun who was hiding with no more effort than it took to lean up against a shadowy wall? Lazy, that’s what these guards were.

John heard a voice in the distance. He didn’t recognize it but it struck fear into his heart, “Lot Seven, male, thirty-two, as is.” Fucking hell, human trafficking! John didn’t give his ego a second. He sent a brief message to Lestrade with the address and forwarded it to Mycroft too just in case. John didn’t wait for their support; Sherlock was going to be put on the block and John would fucking dismember anyone who tried to force his best friend to be a slave!

John was angry now because this probably wouldn’t have happened if Sherlock had kept him close but noOOooo, the huge git had to go and find a lover and rely on _him_ to protect him! It would serve Sherlock right to be sold like he was a dozen eggs! John muttered to himself but worked his way steadily forward. Now instead of creeping past security guards he ambushed them one at a time, using their socks to muffle them and their own handcuffs to bind them. He stuffed the unconscious bodies into closets and kept looking for Sherlock.

He found him chained to a bed naked, ass up with fading welts all over him. John almost got sick when he saw the fear in Sherlock’s face when John pushed the door open. It only lasted until Sherlock recognized him and then it was relief. John wasn’t sure because Sherlock’s face dropped to the bed as he heaved a relieved sigh but it almost looked like Sherlock had tears in his eyes. “John!” Sherlock’s voice was thick with gratitude.

“If I’d known you’d lost your clothes I would have brought you a spare jumper. You better have not lost my birthday pants.” teased John to try and distract Sherlock while he used the lock pick to open the cuffs quickly. Sherlock’s ankles were hard to loosen and as soon as all but one wrist was free John gave the kit to Sherlock because someone was opening the door. Sherlock lay flat on the bed as if still bound and a pair of women walked in, “He’ll fetch a good price even if we didn’t have time to find interested buyers. He’s a virgin and that’s always valuable.”

Sherlock was a virgin? How did they know? John was furious. Someone had molested his best friend to check if he’d ever gotten off with anyone and woman or not John wasn’t going to let them get away with it. He kicked the door shut, knocked out the woman closest to him by clubbing her precisely on the back of the head before pressing the barrel of his gun beneath the second woman’s chin, “If I shoot now you won’t die but you will be as ugly as fuck and a moron besides. Who the FUCK are you and why have you done this?”

The woman was silent but she gasped when Sherlock rose from the bed. The detective yanked off the sheet he’d been laying on and made a toga out of it, his face flushed and angry, “They deal in weapons. Selling people is a sideline and how they dispose of competitors. We have to hurry, they’ve got him.”

Right, Sherlock’s boyfriend, well John couldn’t just rescue Sherlock and not Billy so he knocked the second woman out, careless of the fact that she was female. Sherlock used two of the handcuffs to lock her to the bedframe and helped John drag the second woman over for the same treatment, “Where?” Sherlock indicated the door and jerked his thumb to the right. John nodded and left the room with Sherlock right on his heels, his sheet rustling just a bit.

John had been busy for about half an hour and hoped reinforcements were on the way. He knew it wouldn’t be long before someone came looking for the women they’d disabled, “How many?”

“I couldn’t take a head count. I was blindfolded. We were tricked into coming here. God, Billy!” Sherlock sounded so worried and John was sick inside. Sherlock must really care for the man. It hurt in a weird way but John just chalked it up to being used to being Sherlock’s only friend and tried to be a grown-up about it. “We’ll get him out safe. Lestrade and Mycroft are on their way.”

“If I thought they’d be useful I would have used my one call on them!” said Sherlock almost angrily. “Hurry John, we have no time.”

“Fuck you Sherlock! If you hadn’t run off without me none of this would be going on. I had no idea what I was up against so thanks for the faith but I can’t do this alone. We’ll get your boyfriend, calm the fuck down.” John was angry now and ignored Sherlock’s offended gasp. “Shut up. Someone is coming.”

They ducked into a thankfully empty room and surprised the person walking down the hallway. It was another woman and she had a radio. Sherlock snatched it out of her hand as John put her in a choke hold. When she was out they lay her on the floor and used her stockings to bind her. John heard some rather unmanly sobbing from a nearby room and when they picked the lock they found Billy dressed in what looked like a long nightshirt. He mopped his eyes with a billowy sleeve, “They sold me! I thought you were the people coming to take me away.”

“Someone might have paid for you but they’re not getting you. Come along Billy, we’re taking you out of here.” Sherlock sounded confident and John rolled his eyes.

Billy followed right behind Sherlock who stayed right behind John. John rolled his eyes again. They were following so closely that if John broke into dance steps they could probably conga a few feet before Sherlock and Billy could stop themselves. John grinned at himself, he still had it. So what if Sherlock was dating someone. It was John he needed, that much was obvious. At least John wasn’t a brat like Sherlock. John would be kind to Billy and not rip him to emotional shreds by shouting out embarrassing things to drive him away.

Poor kid, Billy had no idea did he, no idea at all what it meant to be Sherlock Holmes’ boyfriend. Not that John was Sherlock’s boyfriend but everybody always going on about…John shook his head. He was getting sidetracked at a bad time. He needed to focus. The exit was only two hallways away but John had snuck past those guards so unless the alarm had been given, they’d still be there and there was no way one shadow was going to hide three grown men, especially when one of them was making little squeaky sounds of terror.

Angry shouts and gunshots rang out behind them. “Sounds like Mycroft is here.” said John and they gave up all pretense of hiding, dashing for the far door. They heard someone shouting close by but none of them looked back as they rushed out the rear door. John pushed up against it as Sherlock grabbed up a scrap of wood from a nearby pile and jammed the knob. They took off with Billy behind them, getting to the street behind the warehouse just as Lestrade’s team showed up, “You’re late to the party.” panted John.

“Well we’ll clean up. That’s a good look for you Sherlock, very Roman Empire. It suits you.” Lestrade’s eyes were twinkling.

“It’s lovely to know that while other people are getting sold like slabs of meat the Met has time to crack jokes at traumatized victims right out in the street.” Sherlock sounded furious and Billy sounded like he was beginning to hyperventilate. Amusement dropped from Lestrade’s face and in a few minutes both Billy and Sherlock were being taken away in ambulances.

John stood there and tried to leave but no taxi in London was going to stop in a shady neighborhood to pick up a man with a gun who was surrounded by cops with lights flashing on their cars. “Get me to the hospital! Now!” demanded John.

“You’ve got to tell us what we’re dealing with.”

John was in a fury of impatience. The emergency responders wouldn’t let John ride with Sherlock. He needed to follow him to the hospital! “Human trafficking, arms dealing, I don’t know what. Sherlock didn’t get a chance to tell me anything. Go in there, shoot anyone with a coil tattoo somewhere on their person and get someone to drive me to the fucking hospital right now!”

“Sally get John to A&E. Call in team two, report back here.” Donovan nodded and John practically pushed her to the car.

“Slow down Watson. The freak is fine. He always is.” Donovan sounded unconcerned but still used the unit’s lights to weave in and around regular traffic so John didn’t tell her off. She parked as close to the exit as she could get and called out as John leaped out and nearly ran to the door, “He doesn’t deserve you Watson! Make him earn it.”

What the bloody hell was she on about? John dismissed her as unimportant when he heard Sherlock yelling at someone, “Get me Doctor John Watson right now or so help me…” Sherlock’s shouts cut off as John practically skidded into Emergency, “There. That’s John. Go away. My doctor is here.”

John went to the bed where Sherlock was being rude to a nurse holding a tray. “They have to do the kit Sherlock, for evidence.” John kept his voice soft. “Do you want me to stay?”

Sherlock looked sullen but nodded his head. John stood beside Sherlock’s bed as they scraped under his nails and asked him a long series of very personal questions that Sherlock answered in a calm steady voice. “They didn’t touch me anywhere. Apart from wrenching my arm to cuff me to the bed and ruining my clothes nothing happened.” John was so relieved. He couldn’t bear the thought of Sherlock having to suffer any kind of indignity. If he’d heard otherwise John would have made his way right back to the warehouse and saved the taxpayers a lot of money on inmates.

“They said you were a…” John started.

“Not now John. Later!” hissed Sherlock and John stopped talking. Instead he got a second hospital gown to go with the one that was mostly covering Sherlock and the detective wrapped it around himself. In a soft voice Sherlock said, “Thank you John.” and his hand reached out to squeeze John’s. John squeezed back, all irritation gone as he worried for his friend all over again.

“Where’s Billy?” he asked and Sherlock inclined his head to a bed opposite. The curtains were drawn and Billy was obviously being given the same treatment as Sherlock minus his own Watson. “Was he hurt?”

“Well they cut his clothes off in front of me. I imagine his dignity is seriously bruised but we were opportunistic sales and they didn’t want to damage us. The lashing was mainly to instill fear and not to wound. They asked a lot of questions, priced us out and went on to sell Billy first. There might have been more people there but I didn’t see or hear anything useful.

“They had the building surrounded front and back so I imagine everyone who could be rescued was rescued.” Sherlock looked disgruntled. “What!”

“Mycroft gets all the credit, him and Lestrade. Billy and I may as well not have been there.” groused the detective.

“Well, the next time you and Billy get into trouble I might not be there to bail you out.” said John with some heat and Sherlock actually laughed.

“Oh John. You’ll always be there. I can count on you to come save us no matter what.” Excuse me? Sherlock said what?

“Sherlock I’m not your personal guard dog. I’m not going to follow you and your new best friend around London making sure you’re safe. You and your boyfriend will have to look after yourselves. I’m tired now and they’re keeping you overnight. I’ll see you tomorrow.” John just walked away and didn’t look back. He was exhausted and depressed now.

 


	3. Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So what if Sherlock is off with someone else? That doesn't bother John Watson a bit.

John went home and fell into an exhausted slumber. At least Sherlock was safe at the hospital and not doing things with the less than worthy Billy. When John woke up his shoulder was in knots and his hip was screaming and so tense he could barely walk. He took the longest shower he could manage and after a hearty breakfast he went to the hospital to pick up Sherlock, bringing a fresh change of clothes for the detective and after a moment’s thought for Billy as well, “He checked himself out about two hours ago.” said the bored nurse.

“What! Why?”

“There’s no reason to keep him.” the nurse checked the chart. “He signed out and just left.”

“What about the person that came in with him?”

“Gone too, same time. They left together.” She turned away and left John standing alone. Sherlock and Billy were together and John was only wanted for his gun.

John limped his way to the street and made his way to the Yard where Lestrade took his statement. “Sherlock was in here earlier with that Billy fellow. Said they had things to see to.” answered Lestrade when John asked after his flatmate.

“Right, well, you know how to reach me.” John went home and sat in the living room staring at his laptop blankly. He didn’t know what to write up. Sherlock hadn’t told him if it was alright to post this case or if it was even solved. Did bringing down the warehouse operation finish things or was he off almost getting raped and sold a second time? John felt sick and he didn’t know what to do. Feeling helpless made him angry and he sat there fuming and feeling nauseated at the same time.

Mrs. Hudson came up, “Oh John we keep missing one another. Sherlock asked me to give you this as soon as you got home but I stepped out and missed you and then…” John took the note she handed him. John recognized Sherlock’s neat yet scrawling handwriting. “Is it important?”

“I don’t know Mrs. Hudson. It’s another address. Why didn’t he just text me?” John checked his mobile. He’d remembered to plug it in last night at least so it was fully charged but there were no messages.

“Well you know how he is. He does love his little mysteries.” Mrs. Hudson looked fond and patted John’s arm, “Off you go, go find your Sherlock.”

“He’s not mine.” protested John. Mrs. Hudson did go on!

She tittered a little laugh, “You two! Passing notes like schoolboys.” with another little laugh she went back to her flat and John went out to hail another cab to bring him to the address he’d been given. It was a hotel and the receptionist directed him to a room on the upper levels. John didn’t know what to make of it but he had his gun just in case.

One tense lift ride later and John was knocking on a door that Sherlock pulled open. Billy was sitting on the bed and stood when John walked in. Oh bloody great. Sherlock had brought John to his love nest. Perfect. At least they were both dressed and neither of them were pawing the other. John stood at ease and waited to hear what Sherlock wanted him to do. Billy went to the door, “Later.” he said and just left.

“You left me naked at the hospital John! I had to call Mycroft for clothes!” Sherlock was bitching at him?

“If you hadn’t run off with your man without a gun you wouldn’t have needed replacement clothes. Besides, you had your hospital gown on and you checked out without telling me. I brought your clothes with me in the morning.

“You keep saying that. Billy is not mine!”

“Sorry, you’re his, whatever. You two had plans and I helped like I always do but only when you had nowhere else to turn.” John was angry and trying to not be. He was acting like a child.

“John you are an idiot.” Sherlock sounded fond.

“Fuck you Sherlock. Unless you need something shot I’m just going to go alright? I’m sure a third wheel is not welcome.” John made to leave but Sherlock stopped him by pushing him roughly against the door and pinning him there by pushing a large hand between John’s shoulder blades. “Let me go Sherlock.” growled John.

“No. Listen to me John Watson. In no way shape or form would I ever be interested in _Billy_ as a partner. I’ve been working on a case and Billy is my contact with some very hard to find people. I had to come alone, they know who you are and they don’t trust you not to do some random shooting. I can’t say I blame them, I have a list for later.” Sherlock’s voice was almost purring into John’s ear and the doctor realized Sherlock was standing right behind him.

“Who is he then? You’ve been joined at the hip for days now.” John couldn’t stop the blatant jealousy in his words and Sherlock chuckled.

“As I said, a contact. I’m not interested in Billy’s hips.” John was more than a little startled to feel Sherlock’s hands grip John and pull him sharply backward, “I am however very interested in yours.” John could not have been more startled especially when Sherlock’s lips caught John’s earlobe, the detective nibbling delicately on the extremely sensitive flesh. How did Sherlock know that was one of John’s hot buttons?

“What are you doing Sherlock.” John was _not_ moaning his words out, he _wasn’t_.

“Seducing you John.” Sherlock’s voice was deep and rumbling and he bit his way down John’s neck. Again! How did he know? John couldn’t stop his knees from buckling when Sherlock pressed his teeth exactly right in that one little spot.

“Sherlock!” No. No moaning. John wasn’t moaning. Or writhing. He wasn’t doing either of those things! He was mad at Sherlock!

“I’m not Billy’s John. I could never be. I’m yours. You know that. You were supposed to be with me but things happened and I couldn’t reach you before, not in time. John. You’re a marvel. You always come through. You’re always there for me and I want to be there for you any way I can.” Sherlock’s hands slid from John’s hips to his groin, boldly caressing John and leaving the soldier no doubt as to the detective’s intentions.

“I’m not just going to bend over for you Sherlock.” John’s bum was not grinding back into Sherlock’s growing erection. He was being pulled rhythmically. How many things could Sherlock do at once because his hands seemed busy undoing John’s trousers.

“No John, of course not, you’re going to bend me over and fuck me until the dawn.”

“This is all so sudden.” gasped John as Sherlock’s hand disappeared inside his pants and fondled him very eagerly.

“It’s really not. I’ve been flirting with you for years. I learned how to bloody well strip for you John. Do you know how long it took me to find a case where I could utilize that skill? I couldn’t have been more obvious! You are the only person in the world I would ever consider John.” John felt like an idiot. A very erect idiot. A moaning, grinding, and sorry Sherlock, almost drooling idiot. Sherlock’s hand was stroking John knowledgeably, exactly the way John liked it.

“How?” gasped John as Sherlock did a very particular little twist over John’s cock-head, something no one had ever done for him. John liked to do it to himself when he wanked but not always, only when he was taking his time and teasing himself.

“I have some recordings of you masturbating. I’ve been watching you for so long John. I know exactly what you like and how you like it. I’ve never been with anyone, I’ve only ever wanted you and I wanted to make our very first time together special.” Anyone else would have found that creepy but John was suddenly struck over how much effort Sherlock had gone through to educate himself on John’s preferences.

It’s also how John found himself spun around so his back was against the door and Sherlock was kneeling in front of him, “Of course you do. You’re supposed to ask before you do stuff like this.”

“I did. I said I wanted to get into your pants and you gave me permission. Thanks. I’m in.” John was out but only momentarily because mere seconds later he was in Sherlock’s mouth. John was making undignified grunts and assorted noises as Sherlock used that wicked tongue of his in ways that made John’s eyes roll back and his hips quiver. “John. I want your mouth on me.”

“Mhhmm.” agreed John intelligently.

“I want your cock in me.”

“S’good.”

“Do you want me to suck you off or do you want to come somewhere else?” John wasn’t very good at making these kinds of choices because Sherlock’s mouth was a very good place to be but on the other hand, that ass. Oh yeah baby, mouth good, ass better. Sherlock read John’s answer off his face, “Good choice John, bed.”

John stumbled forward still wearing his coat and shoes, his cock bobbing obscenely in front of him. Sherlock stopped him at the edge of the bed, “Beautiful. You’re beautiful.” said John and Sherlock blushed. “You are, god, so bloody perfect.”

John had regained momentary control of himself and thanked the universe for the chance to open his shirt to taste Sherlock’s chest, to suckle his nipples and to work his way down until John was the one on his knees and Sherlock was gasping out high-pitched little moans, his cheeks flushed bright red and his eyes startled and amazed.

John gave not one thought to being gay or not gay. His lover was responsive and delicious; the sounds Sherlock made went right to John’s head like the best sort of drug or the finest alcohol. John wanted more of that milky skin and so he pulled Sherlock’s trousers off and yanked off his black silk pants to lave his tongue over every bit he could reach. Sherlock’s legs were trembling and when John glanced up he saw that the normally contained younger man was a complete wreck. He was chewing his lower lip almost desperately, his eyes shut tight, and his cheeks flushed a deep red. Sherlock’s hands were on his head, gripping his still ginger curls. John had never seen someone so glorious.

John didn’t know how much he would enjoy having another man’s cock in his mouth but he had so he did it again, trying to watch Sherlock’s face as much as possible. Sherlock looked like he was being tortured except John had seen Sherlock be tortured once on a case. Sherlock had looked almost bored and told his tormenter that he was doing it wrong. John was apparently doing it right because Sherlock was speechless.

John rolled Sherlock’s balls in one hand and crept his other hand around the back; finally getting to explore the generous gifts Sherlock was given. His own eyes almost rolled back as his palm filled with firm but yielding, warm, and slightly fuzzy flesh. Sherlock’s cock was bumping the back of John’s mouth and he rather enjoyed that. John was also enjoyed testing out how to use his tongue on a man, remembering all the times women had gotten on their knees for him, and how he’d tried to tell them to do _this_ or _this_ with little success. John toyed with the foreskin until Sherlock’s moans became breathy and loud.

John went for it. He always loved when a woman let him do this so he took Sherlock’s cock in hand at the root and allowed Sherlock’s hips to buck forward at will. It only took the detective a second to catch on and his hands cupped the back of John’s head gently as he began to rut faster, “ _Fuck_.” Sherlock’s whisper was hitched and morphed into a long loud cry of absolute bliss as Sherlock came. John gagged a bit at the unfamiliar sensation of come jetting in spurts against his tongue and teeth but managed to swallow without too much effort. The taste was stronger than he anticipated too, and the warmth was startling. “I can’t stand.”

Sherlock collapsed backward in a boneless heap on the bed, still wearing his blazer and shirt, his trousers around his ankles and his cock resting against his belly. He was panting hard, his hands over his eyes as he tried to collect himself. John divested himself of every scrap of clothes, tugged away Sherlock’s trousers and socks before sitting the man up and removing everything else. Sherlock was gazing at John with almost dreamy eyes, “That was amazing.”

“I still have till dawn.” said John with promise in his voice and Sherlock looked like he wanted to swoon, “I’ll make everything so good for you. Turn over Sherlock.” John got Sherlock on the bed properly, face down with a pillow under his hips, “Where is it?”

Sherlock’s hand gracefully pointed to the night stand and when John pulled open the drawer he found a new and rather large bottle of lube and nothing else, “I’ve had us both tested John. I don’t want to use condoms.”

Of course, the blood, “My arm still hurts you know.” John kissed his way down Sherlock’s long lovely back, finding the hard body beneath his to be more arousing that he’d imagined. John was aching hard now but years of discipline gave him the fortitude to ignore it, choosing to focus on preparing this best friend for his first time. John had made a promise after all, the promise to make it good.

Sherlock was vocal. He moaned out appreciative little sounds as John nibbled here and there, tracing curious fingers of old faint scars on Sherlock’s back, kissing everywhere he’d been lashed when he was kidnapped and made his way to his reward. John wasted no time getting to know Sherlock’s behind as thoroughly as he could, almost kneading it before gently pulling them apart enough for him to finish tasting Sherlock everywhere, “Oh! John! That’s so different!”

John understandably couldn’t respond. His mouth and tongue were very busy getting acquainted with the prettiest landscape they’d ever come across. John was a doctor and had been a rather lusty soldier for a long time; he knew what he was doing. Sitting back on his heels John expertly used the lube to help him tease one finger at a time into Sherlock, enjoying the man’s deep and continuously startled cries for more. John had always enjoyed anal sex, never afraid to ask his dates if they minded. Most said no but enough said yes that he’d developed a real talent for it. John was a master at preparation and Sherlock was getting louder by the minute.

Time seemed to become meaningless and John found himself slicking himself up heavily, generously coating Sherlock as well. John’s cock was fairly thick but he’d made sure to stretch Sherlock extensively. Pushing in carefully John Watson divested Sherlock Holmes of his virginity in one slow steady thrust. John did not stop until he was balls deep and then lay himself on Sherlock’s back cautiously, holding himself deep and steady to allow Sherlock time to get used to everything.

“I can feel your heartbeat through your cock.” Sherlock’s voice was full of wonder. That observation just about ended John’s vaunted self-control and he throbbed inside Sherlock, “Oh!”

John began to carefully move, slowly letting Sherlock get used to the basic sensations before he dropped his hips a tiny bit and thrust upward, “ _OH MY GOD JOHN_!” Oh yeah, there was the magic. John smiled to himself as he began to utilize every trick he knew to make Sherlock stay breathless and almost unable to speak. His deep voice was addictively gorgeous as he rumbled deeply and sighed ecstatically. Sherlock’s cock was beginning to show interest again so John carefully took it in hand and coaxed it back into full hardness.

John had never felt so powerful, had never experienced this kind of awareness of his lover. It was like he and Sherlock had been designed specifically to pleasure one another because every thrust was the most exquisite sensation John had ever felt, every taste of Sherlock was the most delicious thing John had ever encountered, and each cry he wrung from the world’s only consulting detective was heaven to John’s ears. How this had even come about John wasn’t even able to process but he was so glad it had. “Sherlock! Oh god! I’m going to come!” John hadn’t meant to finish so soon but Sherlock’s ass was so tight and the noises he made were so sexy that John hadn’t been paying attention.

“John! Oh! John!” Sherlock’s hips were bucking and his whole back flushed pink! John’s groan blended with Sherlock’s as his hand filled with Sherlock’s seed and John lost his ability to think in any discernible way. His hips bucked forward savagely as he shoved himself as deep as he could, one hand on Sherlock’s hip to yank him back, “Yes! Oh god yes! Jawn! Jawn!” Sherlock’s voice was so vulnerable, so broken, so filled with rapture that John’s cock throbbed one last time before he collapsed on Sherlock’s back, cock still buried deep, his chest heaving as their sweat soaked bodies trembled with aftershocks.

They lay there together and drifted pleasantly for a very long time. Eventually their sweat had cooled and their come had congealed a bit unpleasantly and John needed to move. He’d slipped out of Sherlock as he’d softened but Sherlock made a sound of protest anyway when John rolled to lay beside him, “I think I’m dead.” said John.

“I hope not. My plans for daily sex would be absolutely ruined.” Sherlock’s voice was raspy and he sounded mostly asleep.

“Is that was this is then? Just sex?”

“No John, it’s more than sex. This is us. This is everything being the way it was meant to be. You. Me. Us.”

“Us?”

“Yes _us_ John. You and me together, you know I’m right.” Sherlock sounded like he was on the edge of sleep so John got up, went to the bathroom and brought back a warm damp flannel to wipe his lover down with before washing himself. Sherlock stayed face down and he was breathing regularly. John tugged the pillow out from under his hips and threw it to the floor before lying on the bed beside Sherlock. The lanky detective slide right over and cuddled up to John, “You love me and I love you and this is the way it is.”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“I’m stating a fact John. We’ve been as good as together since the day we met. It’s been foolish to deny ourselves anything.” Sherlock was nearly out, and he wound himself tighter to John, “I love you John Watson. You’re mine.” John didn’t have anything to say that Sherlock hadn’t already covered so his kissed his now unconscious lover gently on the forehead before slipping off into sleep, perfectly content with the new state of their relationship and filled with naughty dreams for the future, all traces of jealousy completely vanquished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another submission to Let's Write Sherlock Challenge 15 - subscribe to my feed to follow along!


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